


Lucky Encounter

by wintersoltis



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Azran Legacy Spoilers, Gambling, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24382072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersoltis/pseuds/wintersoltis
Summary: A short drabble about the invitation that changed Desmond's life.
Relationships: Leon Bronev & Desmond Sycamore
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	Lucky Encounter

The slot machine jingled playfully as the slots spun around and around and around and...

Not a single match. Desmond sighed dejectedly, inserting another coin anyway. This time he'd be lucky. Seven was a lucky number. Seventh time's the charm.

He pulled the lever. 7, 7--

"Hershel."

7!

Desmond howled with glee as his winnings poured out of the machine. He scooped them into his pail, blissfully ignorant of his surroundings for the moment. Should he go again? Eight was a lucky number, too, wasn't it--

A hand gripped his shoulder. He froze, clutching his pail defensively.

" _ Hershel _ ," drawled a sickeningly familiar voice.

Desmond didn't turn around. He didn't have to. And he didn't want to. "I'm sorry," he said pleasantly, "you must have the wrong fellow. That's not my name."

"Oh, of course," the man behind him said. "It's Desmond now, isn't it? Desmond Sycamore."

Damn. Perhaps he wasn't so lucky tonight, after all. Slowly, Desmond stood from the stool. He should have known there was no use in pretending. "How did you--"

"I see you're quite the archaeologist now," the man said. "The leading authority on the Azran civilization. And at such a young age. I'm so  _ proud _ ."

Desmond angled his head so that the lights overhead reflected off his glasses. Leon Bronev stood in front of him, flanked by two other men wearing that ghastly blue uniform that had been burned into his mind for ten years. Targent. All three of them hid their eyes behind some rather ridiculous sunglasses, even inside this dimly lit casino. And Bronev...he'd certainly  _ aged  _ since Desmond last saw him. His brown hair had greyed and grown out, and he'd grown some freakish beard on top of it all. Desmond was much taller than him now, but even now his stature was imposing--no thanks to these agents beside him, Desmond supposed.

"Can I help you?" he snapped.

"That you can, my boy," Bronev said. "But let's not be hasty. It's been years since I've last seen you." He clasped his hands in front of him, taking a step closer. "I've rather missed my sons, you know."

"Oh? I suppose this means you'll be catching up with Theodore as well," Desmond said, taking an instinctive step back.

"Theodore," Bronev mused. "His time will come. I'm here to see you now...Desmond."

Desmond had heard that phrase so many times in his life, but never with his new name. He thought he'd left it behind with Hershel Bronev. But...now...it seemed...

He leaned back, stabilizing himself against the slot machine. Nothing good ever came from his father coming to see him. No, no--his entire body ached with phantom pain, the remnants of a life he thought he'd left behind--

For God's sake, he was an adult now. And he lived on his own, and he had a daughter, and...and...

"So, tell me," Bronev said. "What are your plans now that you've completed your education?"

"The university has offered me a position already," Desmond said rigidly. "They're interested in my research."

"And who wouldn't be," Bronev grinned. "But the funding...they haven't offered you much, have they?"

"Just what business of yours is that?" Desmond said, trying to keep his voice stable. He had an inkling of where this conversation was going.

"No need to get defensive, boy," Bronev said. "But it's not much of a puzzle, is it? Here you are, a regular gambler--"

"Your point?" Desmond interjected.

Bronev's grin only widened. "And I thought archaeologists were patient." He gestured to the agent on his right, a lanky man with a rather large scar running across his face. The agent handed him an envelope, which he offered to Desmond. "This is what you can expect if you let  _ us  _ fund your research."

Desmond took the envelope. "'Us'?" he said quietly. "You mean Targent."

"That's precisely what I mean," Bronev said.

Desmond paled. "You've really...become one of them."

The two agents on either side shifted. Desmond braced himself for retaliation, but...instead, Bronev held up his hand, and they reluctantly took a step back in unison.

"Please, give me some credit," Bronev said. "I've done much better than that."

Oh. The agents weren't here to keep Bronev in line. No, no, these were...henchmen.

Desmond stared down at the envelope. It was all so much worse than he'd thought. He already felt ill thinking about what Bronev could do on his own, but...with an entire organization beneath him? An organization that had torn his family to shreds?

"You have to open it to read the amount, Desmond," Bronev said flatly.

Desmond set his jaw. He lifted the envelope in front of him. 

And tore it in half.

"I will  _ never  _ join Targent," he growled. "I will  _ never  _ make the mistakes you made."

Bronev huffed. "So it seems," he said. "You'll be making mistakes of your very own."

Desmond braced himself once again, even though the agents made no move to go on the offensive. As if it were them he was afraid of, anyway. No, no, he was preparing to defend himself against his own father, who was approaching him with purpose now.

"Tell me about my granddaughter," Bronev said. "Gertrude, was it? Not the name I would have picked."

Nothing could have prepared Desmond for that. His veins turned icy. "What do you know."

"You'll find I know many things," Bronev said. "Targent has given me access to all this knowledge. You should be honoured that I am extending this offer to you."

"I already turned you down," Desmond said.

"Even still? Knowing what you know now?" Bronev clicked his tongue. "You realize I am giving you a second chance. I am..." He chuckled, spreading his palms. "...showing you my hand, as it were."

Desmond clenched his fists. "I told you. I will not make your mistakes." He lowered his voice, just barely louder than the din of the blissfully ignorant gamblers surrounding them. "You will not take me from my daughter."

"If that is the choice you wish to make," Bronev said. He stepped back at last. "Then I suppose you are right."

The two agents turned around and headed for the exit. Bronev lagged behind a little, his arms crossed.

Something didn't sit right with Desmond. He waited until the agents had walked out of earshot, and he caught up with Bronev, gripping his shoulder. 

"Father," he pleaded, his tongue like lead. "You are in charge now. You don't have to resort to Targent's old, barbaric methods." Some part of him knew this was futile, but...he had to hope. He had to. "You can change this."

Bronev brushed his hand off with a smirk. "You think I don't know that?" he said. "I don't use Targent's old methods. I have already enacted change." He pulled his sunglasses down and looked Desmond in the eye--seeing those eyes again, those eyes so much like his own...it was nauseating. "You will see soon enough."

He left Desmond swaying among the lights and the noise and the throes of Lady Luck.

Oh, how lucky he was tonight.


End file.
